Shu Masaru, Dead Man in a Dead City
This was the temple? Masaru couldn't help but be disappointed. Once grand and majestic, now little more than ruins. Would Nenmonchi and Yoganohana one day end up like this? Forgotten, derelict and abandoned? These thoughts echoed against the walls of his mind, as his footsteps echoed against the walls of the grand structure. Would his life, too, be cut short and his name be merely a place in history books and legends? That wouldn't be allowed to happen. That's why he was here. He would pull off the grandest game, and he would win. His cunning would see him to victory as it always did.
He would take the Throne and become a God.
That's why, as everyone sat and pondered the doors at a distance, talking amongst themselves, Masaru instead chose to quietly walk up to the doors, inspecting them close up. The first door...the letters were almost Nenmonchin in style, but far, far older. Too old for even his knowledge of history. He pressed one pale hand against the door, and as he pulled away, he stared back at his crimson-stained palm contrasting his deathly-white skin, slightly disgusted as he took a sniff of it, then a tentative lick.
"Blood...I know that metallic taste anywhere. This door probably leads to some trial of intrigue or war. Elegant courts, with blood running behind the scenes. Wars being bled on the battlefield and the rooms. Symbols of a realm of war and empires."
He spat the blood out, not wanting to stomach the foul liquid, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his hand off. He then went up to each of the other doors, looking them over in detail, touching and tapping on them as he felt for any clues. With the last door done, he stepped back, putting one hand on his chin and stroking it.
"I believe...these are a choice between what sort of place we shall end up in and what trials we shall face. I highly doubt they lead to places like Kamelotte. Would defeat the purpose of having come from there."
Thinking of which, he had never introduced himself. This was all probably sounding insane coming from someone they knew nothing about. While they had been talking amongst themselves and doing introductions, he had faded into the background, observing and taking notes and deciding how to play his hand.
"Oh, where are my manners? I am Shu Masaru, from Nenmonchi."
Best to not reveal that he was an accomplished general. The less they knew, the more they would underestimate him, which meant any contingency plans he had would be unthought of. These people would no doubt be easier to fool than the courtiers in his homeland. None of them seemed even remotely involved in the world of political intrigue. Of course, they could be doing as he was, and presenting themselves far more humbly. Thus was the paranoia he had learnt after years. Never underestimate anyone based on their appearances and word of mouth, especially their own.
An Ordinary Oddball
Poppy Blake, Entering the Cradle of Gods
"Blood!?" Poppy exclaimed, panic launching her into a short coughing fit. The more she tried to stop, the more her coughing intensified, until the fit ran its course and she was gradually able to stop. "Ugh..."
"I'm sorry..." she said, timidly, looking up at Masaru and realizing, in small, small steps of logic, that he was essentially a walking, talking corpse. She felt no life in him that she could steal. She should have been grateful that she couldn't hurt him as easily as the others, but instead, she was intimidated by the graceful and regal bearing he managed to retain even in corpse-hood. It was evident that he was some sort of nobleman. "...So sorry, milord."
Being intimidated, however, was no excuse to show disgust with what another person was. If one of her travelling companions was to be a corpse, then so be it. After all, perhaps she could learn to be as beautiful as he was in death someday. "You said your name is...Shu? Or is it Ma-sa-ru? I hear that some Realms have their names backwards. I think yours is one of them, so...which name should I call you by? If—If that's not offensive to ask, or anything..." she murmured nervously.
"I think we should pick the door that's least threatening right now," Poppy said hesitantly. "For me, it's the wooden door with the mist. When we find out more about the trials we'll face, we can return and make a better decision the next time around...If that's not too forward of me to suggest."
Edited by JumpingFruit on Nov 10th 2020 at 10:17:38 AM
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
Nasira slipped the canteen back into her sleeve. "Thank you, Poppy. Poppy is a pretty name as well; it suits you. Ah, and don't worry - when learning something, everyone has to learn it for the first time."
Standing back up, Nasira followed alongside the group as she quietly assessed her companions. Poppy seemed surprisingly earnest, though that may just be a product of her youth. She reminded Nasira of her Scheherazade in some ways, but the differences were enough to keep her from conflating the two. She was unsure what to make of the others however - especially the tall, hooded stranger who had yet to make his name known. He simply pushed forward ahead of the others when given the opportunity and did not seem much for idle banter. Then there was the self-described former captain and "Witch" Caitlin - it was a wide enough world where such a moniker could be literal or simply metaphorical, but Nasira had no real interest in probing for answers. She was cautious in her blade but relaxed in her speech - all around seemingly sensible. It only made sense to be wary of aspiring gods after all - and at the same time, to be willing to withdraw before any animosities arose.
The red skinned oni, Sword, was the one she initially followed behind into the crater, and some brief seconds walking behind her was enough to confirm that yes, that was the word "Kill" written on her butt in the common tongue. Despite this, she seemed friendly enough, making small talk with the others. Somewhat off putting however was the youthful man named Val. There was friendliness then there was dissonance, and Nasira felt his chipper demeanor fell hard into the latter, especially when he spoke of corpses with a wide grin on his face.
Then there was Shu Masaru, who despite speaking more than the hooded stranger still felt a little... off. Nasira wondered if it was the fact that was an undead that made her uneasy, or that the clothes he wore marked him as nobility or at least of the wealthy elite. Then she considered that he was very discerning with his words, taking care not to reveal more than he needed to - similar to her, now that she thought about it. Like her, he was taking time to observe the others (and her in return), but whatever possible reason for this escaped her. With the hints of wealth in his look and demeanor, it seemed unlikely he was a fugitive... still, Nasira made a note to keep wary of him.
Within Reach of the Cradle
Nasira took back the tranquility she thought she felt upon first arrival; after all, the desolation of an abandoned city was still unnerving even to her. There were no signs of the still living here - only those who've died or come and gone. She had no desire to linger, keeping pace with the front of the group. Then, a sudden blooming of color - on the collapsed statues of fallen gods, where Poppy's hands met the stone, lichen of all hues flourished under her touch. A flower making life blossom where she goes... poetic. Nasira said nothing but smiled to herself as the group continued on to the doors ahead.
"...the door of shifting sands reminds me of rumors I've heard of a living desert, far from the lived-in cities of Kshathra, the bones of great beasts scattered throughout as if devoured by the sands. Based on what Shu and Poppy have said, they might not lead to the realms from which we came but rather places made to resemble those realms..." Pause. "...well, whichever way we go, it may be a good idea to have someone or someones scout ahead to forewarn the rest of any danger. I'm fairly capable of avoiding harm, so I'll place myself as potential volunteer."
"Huh, you know, that's all very interesting. A moment, if you will." Sword was taking in all this info, but she had something more important right now; she loved doing this. The most important step was the first: she took her own cigarette out, stuck it over one ear, and held eye contact with Caitlin the entire time.
Sword took two fingers and gently sprinkled a portion of the herbs into one of the papers, then extended her tongue, gently running it along the edge. She rolled it up with a few quick motions of her fingers, then reached up and placed the unlit cigarette between Caitlin's lips. "Oh, excuse me, right, almost forgot!" Sword put her cigarette back in her mouth, took a breath to get the little point of burning at the tip really going, then leaned forward and lit Caitlin's with her own still hanging from her lips. She sent a wink at the pirate as she leaned back to where she started. "Anyway, I'm not too fond of deserts myself, even if the cities in them are pretty magnificent."
AKA Nixer
Captain Holloway
“Well if we're talking scouting, I think it goes without saying that the sickly girl stay behind, for one...” Caitlin frowned a little, her statement probably unnecessary but spoken just in case it wasn't a sentiment shared by these strangers. There was no judging their personal morality yet, after all. “I can offer up myself as a scout too. But for the sake of these dead gods please let's limit ourselves. If these doors are dangerous then we could be walking useful allies to their deaths.”
Even with that said, she stretched slightly—patting herself down and briefly checking her sword before lightly running her fingers over her tattoos and flicking her eyes between the five doors.
“...though... Poppy's right, in my opinion. That door with the mist looks the... most benevolent. By which I mean you can't see anything outright damning like bloodstains or crying carvings of women. So I'd suggest that one first, to be sure.”
Sword's chosen method of giving her a cigarette made the pirate freeze in caution, though once it was done one could've sworn there was a light dusting of pink on her cheeks. Either way, she was silent throughout the entire thing, and casually blew out smoke from the now lit cigarette as she continued to consider the options.
After giving Sword a wink back, of course.
“...Alright. I've made my own choice. What do we all think, then?”
bork
The Light That Blinds
Val
Well, Val had no idea which door to go through, but everyone else wanted to go through the wooden one...so wooden one it was!
"I'm going down the mist door too!" he chirped, heading up to it and placing his hand on the handle. "I'm sure it won't be too— OH, IT'S TEARING MY ARM!" He let out a banshee-like shriek, dropping to the ground and writhing in agony.
A few seconds in, and he leapt back up from the floor, grinning again. "Just kidding, it only eats good people, see you all in Godlandia!" And with that, Val grabbed the handle once again and threw the wooden door open, eager to see just what lied in store.
Edited by LilyTheLitten on Nov 11th 2020 at 10:06:37 AM
"Kept me waiting, haven’t you? Tch. No matter. Dawdle all you’d like. In the end, your defeat remains inevitable."
Dyersthel
After his brief conversation, the traveler had kept walking. He had a mission, after all, did he not? He thought back to his Realm, his world- people were fighting for the lives, even now. He had to conquer the Cradle, as soon as he could; that chaotic realm around them was once a civilization the Gods themselves had overseen, and now it was like this, and if that were to fall too? All would be destroyed. He could not allow it, he would not.
Others had walked his steps before, surely. Items he saw around him told the story. For a moment, the traveler stopped to think about whether or not they had fallen, or were still trying to become deities, there in that Cradle. What motivated them? Why did they seek the throne of a God? Did they too have something to protect, or did they simply seek glory?
In the first place, part of his mind sneered, he himself- Dyersthel, that name he'd given himself- he didn't have-
No.
Enough of that. He had already come there. The time to doubt himself was long past.
He didn't even notice how much had walked, or how much he had not, lost in thought; when the Temple appeared before him. The seven hundred steps leading to the hall were quickly ascended by the man, and surely some of his companions; he paid no heed to them at that stage.
Once it had been glorious, surely. Legends told of the magnificence of the abode of the Gods. Yet, now, the great statues were in ruins, the altar was broken, and the ominous and disturbing feeling from before returned.
In fact, now, there was also something else. A feeling of... sadness, perhaps. Even the Gods themselves were now nothing more to ruins and broken statues.
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains.
These words, in a Realm, had once been written. And while the traveler did not know of them, perhaps, in a way, he now understood their meaning without having to even read them.
Would he be different? Could he really...?
Yes. He stepped forward. His companions, even if offering each other smokes, seemed to have felt similar feelings.
—And then he saw the doors.
Five doors stood before them all, just like, he imagined, they stood once before anyone who had come there. Five doors, untouched unlike the temple. Opening them, then, surely, would open the door to the destiny that awaited them.
The others had begun discussing which door they would rather enter. It was after all the only way forwards. But he did not speak. His gaze seemed fixated on the last door. That was... What was the meaning of that? Was it just a coincidence? It had to be, surely. But while his rational brain said that, his heart moved his body a step back, eyes still fixated. Was this a test? No, you idiot, this door had always been there, of course it had; and yet, was it really? Could he be sure? What could lay beyond? If their choice had had been that door, what would he see? What would they see?
The weapon on his back, now, felt so empty.
To the ones around him, probably, he would just seem lost in thought while looking at the door. His face was still concealed by the cape, and besides, everyone else had surely felt the same overwhelming feeling coming from that temple.
But... to him, that door, without anyone knowing, was...
And then, a shriek pierced the air.
The traveler turned to look, and there, one of them- blonde and carrying a staff- was on the ground, holding an arm, writhing in pain. But the next moment, he got up. As though nothing were, claiming it a joke. The traveler sighed, his train of thoughts halted and his eyes no longer on the stone door, but on the wooden one.
And when it was opened, he saw no choice but to head for it. No, rather, he decided the choice had already been made. He looked at the others, just to see what they would do. But he, he would head for the "wooden door". If, of course, they even had to walk there at all, and the very act of opening it hadn't already set their choices in stone...
roaming, lurking, arguing
The Cradle
As Valentin opened the door, nothing happened at first. Beyond the frame was nothing but shrouded mist. As he joked and laughed, it swirled and boiled without reacting to the open door. Then, as if it had merely politely waited for him to finish, the fog began to spill out of the gate, like water out of a floodgate. It smothered the mischievous assassin and the group with surprising speed and before too long, they were blind.
The group was trapped in the mystical fog. Their boots no longer feeling the old marble of the temple beneath them. The air thick and humid, but cold. Poppy could feel magic brimming all around her, while Dyersthel's horns began to pulse in pain. Even those unattuned to the arcane powers, could feel their skin prickle.
Then the fog receded and revealed a strange and unfamiliar landscape...
Alvahnôn, Refuge Mist-Devoured
What stretched out before them was an entirely new expanse. Rocky hills and dark woods, dotted by crumbling ruins of long abandoned castles. Menhirs and rocky outcroppings pierced through the earth, like boney fingers. And an everpresent mist, which covered the entire world before them, like a veil hiding secrets and sins.
They stood upon a flat hill-top, around them the ruins of an old watchtower. Broken statues of long-forgotten warriors and kings stared down at them, as if they were trespassers. Their faces eroded by rain and wind, though even in their prime they would have not been recognizable to the wanderers. Ancient and forgotten already an age before their own.
Despite all of this, the land still followed familiar shapes. If one looked closely, one could spot that the terrain followed roughly the same shapes of the Cradle and the Realm that they had been from. Even the mountains in the distance looked familiar, if now snowcapped and clearly reminiscent of northern peaks. It was almost as if this land was like clay, laid over a relief. Different, but familiar.
Still, they did not have much time taking in their new surroundings. A scraping sound could be heard near the base of the hill and a look down revealed armor-clad beastial things moving towards them. They resembled beastmen from Arcada, but much more feral, misshapen and with cold breaths emitting from their mouths. Clumped fur, long snouts and clawed hands, clumsily holding on to rusted weapons. Their hunchbacked bodies clad in broken armor. Mostly leather, but also chainmail here and there. Their eyes glowing with blue lights.
They stared up to the group. Their leader, a tall bull-like brute with a wolfs-head, snarled. He raised his axe and his small horde stormed up the hill, barking and growling and thirsting for fresh blood.
Edited by TheNohen on Nov 11th 2020 at 9:38:39 PM
AKA Nixer
Captain Holloway
For one dreadful moment, Caitlin feared she'd advocated for a horrible mistake. Not due to Valentin's joke; she'd merely looked sharply towards him at his scream only to roll her eyes and short once realising he was only kidding. But once the mist began to seep through, and she lost track of both herself and everyone else, Caitlin felt a rare but nonetheless palpable fright in the very pit of her stomach.
She barely remembered to spit out her cigarette before she felt her feet leave the ground. Typical. Such a waste as well; she'd been enjoying it.
The tattoos on her arm began to smoke and glow a vibrant bright blue; the infused energies from the relics reacting with the magic around them. She closed her eyes until the feeling cleared and their surroundings became visible again, and upon realising that the environment had changed and not their actual location, she grit her teeth and drew her sword once she heard the approach of foes in her good ear.
“Bloody Gods and their wretched tricks... if they weren't dead I'd have killed them myself...” she spat, levelling her falchion towards the horde as she carefully began to move in such a way so as to draw the minions away from their leader. Focus on the little ones first, then deal with the behemoth. “Now for goodness sake's keep in sight of each other!”
As one of the smaller creatures leapt at her, she sidestepped swiftly to her right and performed a quick slash with her falchion towards its neck—following this up with a sudden blast of wind at its corpse so as to knock it back into a couple of its nearby allies. Three down in total; the windblast had been potent enough to break the other two's spines (or whatever structural equivalent they had) through sheer force of impact.
Now with enough time to think for a second, she inwardly wondered if her magic would've been bolstered or weakened by all of that energy in the environment. She supposed she'd soon find out. Either way, she aimed to stick near to Poppy after a moment's thought—she seemed to be the most vulnerable, and Caitlin also wanted to make up for accidentally frightening her earlier.
Not that she'd admit this aloud.
Edited by Enirboreh on Nov 11th 2020 at 8:51:35 PM
bork
The Light That Blinds
Val
So what lied beyond this door? What secrets was hiding behind it? What sort of daring adventure would they be sent on to reach the Thrones?
...mist.
Val stared at the fog, bewildered. "This is weirdly disappointing," he said.
Fwoosh!
Val let out a panicked yelp as the mist suddenly poured from the doorway, immediately shrouding him and the group. "OH MY GOD, I'M BLIND! I CAN'T SEE MY HANDS!"
Then the fog dissipated. "Oh, there they are."
The place they'd been transported to was your typical long-forgotten land: ruins, hills, more ruins, distant dark spooky woods, yet more ruins, a horde of beastmen charging at them, and even more ruins.
...Maybe that second-to-last one was most important.
"Ooh, I've fought beastmen before!" Val chirped, taking a few steps towards them, slowly twirling his staff in his hand. "They infested my old group's basement once. We made bets on who'd clear out the most."
His smile shifted to look distinctly...predatory.
"And guess what? I won."
Val sprung into action. Quite literally—he leapt from the hill and met the horde head-on, slamming his staff down into the first one's head. There was a sickening CRUNCH as its skull was smashed, and blood dripped to the dirt below.
"Nya-ha!" he laughed, spinning out of the way of another's weapon. "Missed!" He brought the staff down again. This time, a bit of blood splattered onto his face.
Val looked at the other beastmen. The smile was still there, but the perceptive among the group would notice it didn't quite reach his eyes anymore. "Anyone else want to test their luck?"
"Kept me waiting, haven’t you? Tch. No matter. Dawdle all you’d like. In the end, your defeat remains inevitable."
An Ordinary Oddball
Poppy Blake, Inside the Misty Forest Door
Poppy flinched and squeaked as Val made his joke—in her opinion, such a thing was in bad taste and was plainly not funny—but she wasn't going to lecture a self-proclaimed assassin about it, not when he was still in possession of all his faculties and extremities. Instead, she sighed as the comforting hum of magic surrounded her, and she made sure to draw deep drafts of it deep into her body to prepare herself for whatever came next.
As the group was approached by enemies, Poppy hurriedly moved to strip her left arm and hand of a long leather glove to reveal what remained of it—which appeared to be chiefly bone, held together and moved by a few stray strips of preserved sinew. She flipped her eyepatch up to reveal the hole that previously housed her right eye, but while it should have scarred over normally, this was not the case. The bone encircling the socket was just barely visible while the cavity seemed to hold an endless void in it, with only a green pinprick of light hanging in the void marking it as a fully-operational eye.
"Remember that you must die," Poppy intoned, more seriously than before, as her hands filled with magic that was colored a sickly green and, perhaps more concerningly, bubbled and dripped onto the ground, killing the grass where it landed. "Momento Mori!"
With that as her battle cry, she put both her hands together and blasted the first beast-man that dared come the slightest bit near her with her rot magic. Nothing happened for a few seconds, but just as it was about to reach where Poppy and Caitlin were, it flagged and collapsed as worms burst forth from its every orifice. Its flesh was already melting from its bones and drying out, the processes of decomposition accelerated by Poppy's magic.
Green wisps of life energy seemed to float out of the bloated corpse and siphon themselves into Poppy, whose sickness was subtly eased by this as a bit of color returned to her cheeks. The girl herself kept her hands raised in a suitable casting position, though she looked shocked by what she had done. A radius of dead grass started to surround Poppy, promising something terrible if it was touched, though it wouldn't harm her allies. Caitlin, standing nearby, could feel her magic waver towards Poppy's direction, even as the girl tried not to interfere with any magic the others wanted to cast.
Edited by JumpingFruit on Nov 12th 2020 at 11:56:00 AM
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
Sword really dug the chutzpah she was seeing here. Captain Cait there didn't back down or freeze up—much—and Val was really living up to his reputation. Once or twice she'd seen his work on her brothers and sisters, human Guildsmen flattened like they'd fallen off a cliff. She wasn't going to flinch here if they didn't flinch there. Just to flex a little more, she stepped forward as Caitlin dropped her cig, and popped it in her own mouth. There was certainly an art to keeping the things in your mouth during a fight, no judgment there.
This here, in front of them, she could handle. Sword was gone in a flash, and in a second she was already following through with an enormous right-handed haymaker on one of the small-fry. Her weight was already carrying her forward even further, and she rolled forward with the swing. Her hands caught the soft grass and she pushed off, launching herself at a second one with a powerful dropkick. She pointed at the leader as she soared through the air, and mouthed, YOU. NEXT. It sent the cigs tumbling out of her mouth, and she just... made a mental note to grab them later.
Edited by Taco on Nov 11th 2020 at 3:25:00 AM
Nasira, Smoke Amidst Fog
Nasira would've preferred a bit more time to process the change in scenery and the magic involved therein, but the immediate circumstances did not permit - as soon as the world was anew, the hastily formed group was sprung upon by beastmen who seemed either undead or with one foot in the grave. Despite this they had energy enough to attack, so questioning their exact condition would need to come later.
As a wolfman charged her, Nasira swayed to the side, her long sleeves swiping across their chests as she dodged... and falling to the ground from the blade wounds that appeared suddenly on their bodies. Nasira weaved a dance of death with a pair of twin curved swords, the blades seemingly appearing and disappearing into the fog with her movements. Another pair attempted a pincer attack but to no avail - the djinn traveler disappearing into the mist as though she were an illusion in the fog. Instead their axes fell upon each other with Nasira making her presence known just a few feet away. Really, the foggy landscape was a great advantage to her - her smokey form and apparitions blending in perfectly with the surroundings.
The Cradle
"Masaru is indeed my first name, little one. Nenmonchi, like many others in Onogoro, put our last names first. But enough talk for now, we should move. Time is not on our side."
With that said, Masaru followed his companions through the door, a slight smile stretching across his pale visage.
Lost in Mist
Masaru spent what few moments he had surveying his new environs, especially the watchtower. A good position to retreat to, being up on raised ground. The structure would provide cover from archer fire, and a good defensible position. Not that that mattered, as they were soon under assault from strange beastmen with glowing eyes, wearing tattered remnants of old equipment. Masaru drew Genkaen, taking a deep breath and then releasing it as he felt the familiar warmth of the blade next to his body. Force of habit, seeing as he didn't need to breathe, keeping him calm and focused. He cautiously stepped towards the approaching enemies, keeping his stance stable and ever-ready to defend himself. One lunged at him, and Masaru swiveled on his forward foot, letting his foe's blade sail past him, while he drew Genkaen back. In a flash, the ground was stained red as Genkaen found a new home in the beastman's stomach, only to be forcefully pulled to the side and sending a small shower of blood in an arc along its path.
A heartbeat passed as yet another charged towards him, a heartbeat cut short as Masaru parried the blow and buried Genkaen in the beastman's chest in one smooth motion, like water flowing around a bend in the stream. A flick of the tachi to remove the worst of the lifeblood that clung to it, followed by a slash that cut deep into the side of another approaching foe, sending them into a howl of pain abruptly stopped by a decapitating strike, air whistling from where a head once rested. A step, a parry, and another beastman found the tip of Genkaen poking through its eye socket. Blood splattered across Masaru's face as, but he was unfazed, already stepping towards his next target. He feinted, only to draw back as his foe raised their weapon to defend themself, charging forward with a front kick that bowled them over, another large step bringing him over the foe to drive his blade straight down through their ribs with both hands while they were stunned. Order amidst chaos, Masaru's mind raced as he stepped back, taking a moment to collect his thoughts amidst the fight. Everyone else seemed to be blindly charging in, without a thought to cohesion and teamwork. Oh well. They would hardly follow his orders anyways. Still, he had taken 5 down, but their leader was by far the biggest threat. One they couldn't risk fighting while his companions threatened them from behind. If anything, he would be taken down easier once they had the numbers advantage.
Dyersthel
And so the door swings open. The traveler had half a feeling this would happen. "The door" isn't a door, in the traditional sense, rather a door as in 'a passage'. The world around them morphed, first overtaken by fog, and then by an entirely new landscape. The traveler's "horns"- that's what most people called them, even of his own race, the proper word to describe them sounding all too pretentious- they pulsated, to the point of hurting. This kind of energy was unlike anything he'd ever felt. On a completely different level, in fact. But when the fog receded, and when the pain did too, a new scenery lay before them.The geography was similar, yet different. For one, the vegetation that existed here actually did, well, exist. The fog was also still there, ever present. But the traveler was soon called away from examining the scenery, vowing to do so later. For now, the sound of footsteps and scraping came towards them.
Enemies. Probably, a test to overcome. In a swift motion, a motion so practiced it required no thinking or attention, the traveler's weapon was in his hands, the blade shining in the fog.
The traveler was a little separated from the group, so while he could hear them yelling and see them fighting, some of the beastmen would come for him as he was alone- but not that which appeared to be their leader, who would likely not separate from the main group. Well, so be it.
Just another day on the job, huh?
His hands moved almost automatically. With a coordination that seemed too precise to be born out of practice and dexterity alone, the steel blade drew an arc in the mist and another in the neck of the first creature that had reached him.
A rusted sword swung towards his back, but it was intercepted by the blade before it could connect. Yet another weapon attempted to hit from a different angle, but he dodged it and struck back, slicing away the arm of the foolish beast. However, a problem had appeared. Because he was, relatively speaking, distant from the others... he could be surrounded, and he was soon going to be.
So, he decided to move towards the group. Strength in numbers, right? Those beastmen were hardly a threat anyway, and as his scythe reaped another's life, drawing a crimson arc from their chest, he made his way there.
roaming, lurking, arguing
Watchtower-Ruins
The group butchered the beasts left and right. Blood spilled onto the old ruined stones, hot and smoking as if boiling. The beasts snarled and swung their weapons wildly, without much skill. They made up for their lack of swordsmanship with sheer ferocity. They would have likely been a severe danger for your average warrior.
But they weren't fighting average warriors.
Valentin jumped and weaved and dodged, with almost arrogant ease. Smashing in skulls with his staff, as if it was merely a dance for his own entertainment. His pretty visage splattered with hot blood, that gave his smile a terrifyingly psychotic edge.
Sword was not far behind him, her fists crashing into snouts and fangs, shattering both. The Oni saw one beast jumping towards her and used the momentum she still had, by launching herself against it and dropkicking it in the face. A pained yelp was followed by a sickening crunch, as she broke its neck.
Nasira and Masaru danced on top of the hills, each in their own way. The djinn was deadly elegance personified, weaving in and out and merging with the fog around her. Beasts flailed wildly, unable to pin her down and she cut them down from blindspots or turned their weapons against each other.
Where Nasira was like an exotic dancer, Masaru was much more direct. Yet, his short steps and ruthlessly efficient attacks had their own form of beauty to it. The same kind of beauty one could only attain by forging ones skill to the utmost limit. Cuts, quick and almost imperceptible. No movement wasted. A martial skill, honed by lifelong battle.
Dyersthel kept the rear, fighting against a flanking detachment, that no one had spotted. The Er'yyos swung his war-scythe, each time claiming a life. He was cautious, methodical. The rage of his enemies smashing uselessly against his focused, stoic expertise.
Caitlin cut one beasts throat open with one blow, and using her magic to disrupt the hordes formation. Whenever an enemy came close enough, they were stopped by her falchion.
And yet...it was not the blade these creatures began to fear. As soon as one of them began to rot from the inside, rapidly and painfully decomposing, the rest quickly began to back off. Snarled snouts and feared whimpers holding back their anger. Poppy...scared them.
All in all, the clash lasted only a few seconds and the beasts lost scores of their own, without able to even scratch the group. Snarling and howling in anger, they paced around them, not daring to get into range. They blue glowing eyes fixated at them in hatred, but Poppy's magic kept them away.
Down on the hill, things weren't as rosy for Valentin and Sword. Cut off from the rest of the group, they found themselves slowly but surely overwhelmed by the beasts. While the rabid monsters barely posed a threat to them, they hampered their movement and kept them occupied. Worse still, their vision began to be impacted. With each one they felled, blood spilled onto the ground. Boiling and hissing, steam rose up from it and merged with the fog. Before too long, both the Oni and Assassin were trapped in a deep mist, only able to see about a foot in front of them.
With a loud roar, the Brute appeared out of the roiling fog. His axe slammed down and nearly cut Valentin in half, carving a large gash into the ground as it missed the swift rouge by mere inches. Muscles coiled and the Brute rushed forward, smashing into Sword. Its frothing wolfs-maw snapped at her face, his fist burying into her stomach. The Brute howled loudly and from all side stormed in his underlings, attacking and distracting Sword and Valentin.
Then he gripped his axe with both hands and swung in a massive arc, eager to cut both of them in half.
Edited by TheNohen on Nov 12th 2020 at 6:38:44 PM
AKA Nixer
Captain Holloway
Caitlin went slackjawed at Poppy's display of magical power, and felt a shiver ripple down her spine—balking from sheer intimidation at the grim sight for a moment before snapping herself out of her state and glancing at the sickly girl with a newfound respect. The creatures also seemed to be frightened by the display, as they were keeping their distance—but that was only in regards to them, and Caitlin soon picked up on the trouble Sword and Valentin were in.
...S***.
“...Well. You've impressed me, to say the least. Watch my back, won't you...?” she frowned in regards to Poppy, hissing out from between clenched teeth as she witnessed the largest creature going in for the kill. Bracing herself, she held out her hand towards the creature—her tattoos glowing with magical energy as she attempted to fire an especially powerful wind blast so as to knock its attack off-balance.
Unfortunately, she hadn't noticed how her magic was being disrupted by Poppy's proximity. As such, the blast and its kickback was more unstable than she anticipated—causing her to yelp slightly in surprise as bluish smoke billowed from her tattoos.
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The Light That Blinds
Val
Val let out a panicked yelp as he barely rolled out of the way of the axe, watching it embed itself into the ground. "O-kay, you seem dangerous!" he yelled. He readied his staff for two-on-one combat...at which point the minions proceeded to surround them.
...well, it didn't take a genius to see that he and Sword were deep in absolute garbage. Therefore, Val would have to perform one of the most advanced techniques of the Loups Fantômes:
Run away like a little bitch!
Planting his staff into the ground, Val swung upward, lightly landing on one of the underlings. "Apologies, Sword, but we need to live to fight another day!" he said, skipping across the heads of the beastmen back up the hill. To the leader, he gave a grin and a chipper "Au revoir!"
Upon reaching the last beastmen, Val gracefully leapt to the ground and waved at the rest of the group. "Hello, everyone! I live—"
And then Caitlin's wind blast knocked him right back into the beastmen.
Thanks, Caitlin. We knew we could count on you.
"Kept me waiting, haven’t you? Tch. No matter. Dawdle all you’d like. In the end, your defeat remains inevitable."
Sword had had worse! All her insides were still inside for one. She hadn't even lost any skin. That hammerblow to the stomach had her gasping, and more importantly flying through this air, but that was fine for now. Sword caught her breath in midair, reoriented herself, and came down in a skid. Of course Valentin was going for one of his vaunted escapes, and she wasn't going to denigrate him for it, but her own footwork worked on a much smaller scale. Surrounded by goons, with a bigger one on the way through the mist, Sword hunched up, got her dukes up, and started swaying, throwing herself out of the way of every strike on a full defense. Her stance stayed wide but her feet shuffled around constantly—and then the windblast caught her out, just like Valentin. These things have magic or what? Sword hit the ground hard and rolled, but in the crush of goons she was in she didn't have room to stand. It turned into a ball of cartoon violence, with Sword throwing punches, kicks, and bites at whatever she could.
An Ordinary Oddball
Poppy Blake, Inside the Misty Forest Door
"I'll certainly try..." Poppy said to Caitlin's request, faltering for a second, before wincing as the captain's magical wind blast went awry. She felt a deep and shameful need to apologize, even if the mistake wasn't directly her fault, so she muttered a timid "Sorry," for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day.
The beastmen near her were already thinned out and unwilling to approach her, so Poppy chanced being attacked in favor of turning her attention to the action on the hill, which was significantly more intense. She couldn't possibly aim a blast with the chaos going on. As one beastman tried to charge her from behind, it stepped on the ring of dead grass around Poppy and soon folded over, mold devouring its lower half and proceeding to its vital organs; the mold only seemed to grow thicker as it drank any blood that might spill on the ground.
Waste not, want not, after all.
Poppy soon realized that there was a plethora of not-quite-dead bodies all around her, which still had a small amount of life force that she could use to feed her magic. There was what sounded like a high-pitched screech in the air as Poppy siphoned more wisps of life energy from the wounded and downed beastmen surrounding her and teased them into more substantial-seeming orbs of ghost lights revolving slowly around her, which helped her see through the thickening fog somewhat. The faces of beastmen pressed themselves against the edges of the phantasmic orbs, silently howling, as if trying to escape from their forced orbit around Poppy.
"If you keep spilling blood, it'll turn into more mist!" she shouted through the fog, voice seeming unnaturally strong now that she had absorbed the vitality of her fallen enemies. "Try to bash them, not cut them!"
Faintly seeing the Brute in the midst of the fog, she focused on him with all her might and gave him the Evil Eye, as the village elders back in her hometown might have called it. "You are already dead," Poppy intoned again, as the magic in her hands flared with an evil hiss and she raised a skeletal hand to point at the Brute. "I curse you! So shall it be!"
With her malediction spoken, Poppy's magic would not act as quickly as if she had straight-up blasted the Brute, but this was the safer alternative compared to blindly firing magic into the fray. At least this was a specifically targeted spell which wouldn't spread in ways that she didn't want. Even if the Brute didn't understand what Poppy said, the effects of her curse would soon become apparent as worms were seeded inside of him, turning his innards to jelly and slowly, slowly killing him, much slower than the other beastmen that Poppy was able to attack directly.
Edited by JumpingFruit on Nov 12th 2020 at 9:29:02 AM
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
Nasira, Smoke Amidst Fog
Nasira's initial concern for Poppy... remained, though taking on different form as she devoured the barely living wolfmen that surrounded her, draining them of what little vitality remained. Yes, very concerning. But it was a conversation for later, and for the moment it meant that Poppy was capable of taking care of herself, so Nasira instead focused on the combat up ahead. The wind Caitlin brought forth cleared the mist ahead as it blasted into the gargantuan beastlord, though with the unintended side effect of throwing their compatriots Val and Sword off balance as well.
But, on the other hand, that meant no one was between Caitlin's wind and the wolf leader. "Sorry Val, Sword, but please keep clear from the large one...!" With winds still bellowing forth, Nasira dove into the tempest... and disappeared, vanished into smoke which funneled and carried itself into Caitlin's spell. Disguised within the dense fog, it flowed forward, forward, closer to the Brute... before, just a few feet in front of him, a flourish of white cloth like a crane in flight appeared suddenly. It could be seen as a thing of beauty, but carried in both its hands by contrast was a weighty iron sledgehammer. Aimed for its center of mass, the crane moved with the speed of smoke on the winds, but with the heft of a djinn's body and a hunk of metal, set to crush its ribs, its stomach...
Really, Nasira wasn't picky.
Dyersthel
Making his way through beasts, of a seemingly endless number, the traveler had eventually been able to rejoin the group. The scene he saw amidst the crimson mist was not a group of people fighting for their lives, as he had thought they were, but instead a number of these beastmen surrounding a girl- the one he'd spoke to, and told to stay back to- as well as some others.And the reason seemed to be, simply put, that the girl was too much for them to handle. The grass around her was dead, and judging by what he could see on top of it, so were many of the creatures. It seemed like she had some sort of power that could very easily let her hold her own. However... No, that would be a matter for later.
Instead, he noticed the couple fighting, separated, against the Brute and even more beastmen. Seriously, where did they keep coming from...? Whatever.
Tearing down any beastmen that lay in his way, he made his way to their location. They seemed in need of help, after all. And he could give help.
He did not attempt to attack the Brute, not just yet. His ranged options were... not good enough, for a feat like that. So instead he would focus on launching a surprise attack, through the mist, on the beastmen surrounding the two.
Even if the mist hampered his powers a bit, he could probably see through it, at least vaguely enough for that.
roaming, lurking, arguing
Watchtower-Ruins
The brute swung his axe. The blade cutting through the air in a wide arc, ready to bisect Valentin and Sword. Before he could connect though, a blast of wind hit him square in the chest and nearly blew him off his feet, maing the blow go high and missing Sword's head by a hair.
Then out of the fog Nasira appeared, her smokey form nearly indistinguishable from the mist around her. She conjured up a maul and slammed it in the brutes midsection. She heard a satisfying crunch, as she broke some ribs and the monster howled in pain. Then it suddenly grabbed her around the neck. With a roar the brute slammed the djinn into the ground, face-first. Only the soft mud prevented Nasira from being knocked out.
The brute lifted his axe again, now bringing it down on the djinn to finish her off, but again he was interrupted. A cough wallowed up from his chest and boiling, hissing blood splattered on the muddy ground, as Poppy's curse began to eat the brutes insides. he stumbled, the pain briefly overwhelming his primal fury.
Meanwhile both Valentin and Sword were in trouble. The remaining beasts began to dogpile on them, foregoing any martial skill and simply beginning to overwhelm both fighters with sheer mass. The assassin was pinned to the ground by spears and the Oni had five beasts punching, kicking and biting her at the same time, while she paid them back in kind.
Then a slash of steel cut through the melee and the beasts shrieked in agony. Three had been cut in half, while another one held its severed arm and howled in agony. Both Sword and Valentin were covered in guts and body-parts. Dyersthel strode out of the fog, his war-scythe dripping with blood. An elegant slash removed the boiling liquid and nearly decapitated another beast. The survivors quickly focused on the new threat and six beasts rushed the warrior from the front.
But even for the others there was no respite. The brute raised his hand before his glowing eyes, almost staring at the rotten insides he coughed up with curious horror. Then his eyes snapped over to Poppy and an enraged, maddening howl broke from his lips. His two hooves churned the earth, as he barreled up the hill, picking up speed as he ran. His biceps pulsed and coiled, as he raised his axe and charged towards, what he identified as the biggest threat in this fight.
AKA Nixer
Captain Holloway
The brute was charging, and Caitlin was unsure if attempting another windblast would be wise. She could try and put some distance between her and Poppy in an effort to stabilise her magic again, but there was no telling if that would even work or not—for all she knew, it could be several hours before her magic was once again reliable. Which considering the time they had, was not good enough...
She froze for a moment, biting her lower lip anxiously—before exhaling and narrowing her eyes determinedly. Drawing her falchion, she began to rush forward in an effort to meet the beast head on; motioning for Poppy to use the time to run or dive out of the way. She was well aware this thing was put of her league in a straight fight, but if it meant even a small delay it could give Poppy's decaying effect some time to work. Perhaps even saving them all in the process.
She hoped. If she was lucky and the thing was dumb enough not to immediately recognize a dupe, she'd attempt to slice at its abdomen with all her might before diving as fast as she could to one side—perhaps lessening what could otherwise be an immediately fatal counterattack. Even so...
It'd be kind of sweet to die protecting a sick girl like her.
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Captain Holloway
“The stone door's catching my eye, personally. But only because the nicest things aren't always the best. It's a very fine wood, and looks luxurious. But to me that suggests trappings. Always a price for extravagance. Otherwise they wouldn't dare flaunt it.”
She coughed sharply into her fist, nursing her throat a moment—the stuffy atmosphere and dust from the rubble evidently getting to her. But rather ironically, she seemed to brighten up upon registering Sword's offer, and soon stood to wander over to her and nod in wanting for one of the rolls.
“I think I like your people. Do these herbs count as exotic...?” she considered a moment, examining the herbs as much as she could without outright snatching them from the oni. That'd be impolite. “I'd like one, thank you very much. This feels like some sort of arbitrary test... though we might be being fools about it all...”
Then again, I'd argue there's no such thing as overcautiousness. Apotheosis can't be so easy for a reason.
Edited by Enirboreh on Nov 9th 2020 at 9:05:47 AM
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